“It’s that Drakos spirit,” she said. “You’re all too stubborn to be defeated.”
He smiled. “True enough.” Ever since that day he’d reconciled with his father he’d felt like a Drakos, unquestionably. “I still hate wearing ties to these things,” he said, tugging the black scrap of silk off and letting it fall to the floor.
Layna smiled and walked over to him, planting her hands on the bed on either side of him, leaning down for a kiss. “The torture you’re subjected to,” she said, smiling that special smile of hers.
He kissed the crease by the corner of her mouth. “I know it.”
“So tell me, Xander Drakos, heir to the throne, have you ever regretted coming back?”
“Not once. I would wear a tie every day of my life so long as I spent those days with you.”
“Now that was the right answer.”
“I’m getting pretty good at this husband thing.”
“You’ve been good at it for a while,” she said.
She kissed him again, deeper, more passionately. And then he was lost. As he always was with her. Years hadn’t diminished their need for each other, their love.
Much, much later, Xander held his wife against his chest, threading his fingers through her hair, stroking her scar-roughened cheek.
“Layna Drakos, you make me very glad that I stopped running.”